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Once upon a time, there was a teenage boy who loved a teenage girl, and the girl was in love with the boy. Like teenagers everywhere, they had no idea who they were or who they would become, but they thought they would find out together. They were right, and they were wrong.

However, the girl listened to a woman’s music, and that helped her find a part of herself. The woman wrote songs that spoke to the girl’s soul. The boy, like many boys in love with girls, started listening to the music the girl loved because it’s what one does. (It didn’t hurt any that the boy listened to a man’s music, and that man sang a song with the woman.)

A strange thing happened, however; the boy fell in love with the woman’s music, too – and maybe a bit with the woman herself. Her voice was bewitching: her talent undeniable. The woman possessed a seductive, dangerous charisma the boy couldn’t resist. She seemed like a modern-day Siren: her songs beautiful, yet damning.

Through the woman’s music, and what it meant to the girl, the boy learned more about the girl. He learned how she struggled to show him, and everyone else, the person behind the mask of polite society and parental expectations. He learned about her need to be more than just his girl.

Then he learned something about himself. He learned something about being silenced, being violated. He learned about being joyful in spite of these tragedies. He learned something about being one’s truest self, no matter how much the rest of the world might not understand.

The boy and girl saw the woman perform her music several times, and even got a chance to meet her by skipping school. (The boy felt no regret, and assumed at least one of his teachers would understand.) The boy couldn’t speak when face-to-face with the woman. She was as enchanting in person as she was on record. Thankfully, his handmade T-shirt spoke for him: “Real men listen to Tori Amos.”

While the boy and girl didn’t stay in love forever, happily ever after, the man the boy became is eternally grateful to the girl that one of the things she shared was the music.

It occurs to me that music is a very important part of my life. It also occurs to me that most of the music I listen to and like was introduced to me by someone I know. In the interests of disclosure and acknowledgement, I’d like to share some of my musical tastes and who introduced me to the artist(s) in question. So, without further ado, here’s the riff:

I was introduced to my favorite band of all time, Rush, by my mother. I have some very clear memories as a child listening to “Tom Sawyer” in the car and at home on the stereo. My mom had Moving Pictures on cassette. That tape was listened to so many times that the last time I heard it, there were noticeable pops and crackles on almost every song. I “borrowed” the Moving Pictures cassette for quite a long time. It didn’t occur to me until I was about 16 that the record I loved was released the year I was born. Pretty amazing longevity, don’t you think? Thanks, mom: I owe you big time for holding on to that tape even after Rush stopped being popular.

I’ve never been into what’s popular. I’m sure that’s part of why I hated Nine Inch Nails when I first heard “Closer.” To me it sounded like some strange white-boy rap. At the time, I was into grunge rock still, listening to a lot of Nirvana and Soundgarden. Then my friend, Toy Cesar, made me a tape of some Nirvana B-sides. To fill up the blank space on the cassette, he included some tracks from NIN’s Broken EP. I heard “Last” and I was hooked. Thanks for not being wasteful with cassette tape, Toy: The Downward Spiral was my salvation when I broke up with my first true love a year later.

Speaking of my first true love, Mary Richards (née Watson) introduced me to Tori Amos (quite literally, I was completely star-struck and speechless when we met Tori backstage outside the Coronado). Little Earthquakes remains one of my favorite albums of all time and every time I hear the song with the same name, I’m reminded of one of my first messy and awkward teenage romances. Thanks, Mary, for introducing me to one of the most beautiful artists ever.

My wife, Tiffanie, is also a beautiful artist, albeit of a different sort than Tori Amos. Tiff has gotten me listening to quite a few musicians I probably wouldn’t have found without her intervention. Marilyn Manson, Deftones, and Orgy are just a few of the groups that she’s introduced me to over the years. The most recent band to join my clique of acts I enjoy is Stabbing Westward. Their record, Wither Blister Burn and Peel, is emotionally disturbing industrial at its finest. Thanks, babe, for challenging me to push my boundaries, both in music and in life.

Some music challenges you. It’s like a sonic version of Citizen Kane. Other music is more like There’s Something About Mary: entertaining, but not very heavy on substance. Huey Lewis and the News is my favorite “light” band. I have my aunt, Lisa Hermanson, to thank for my love of Huey. I remember many fun times with her, driving around the back roads near Belvidere, Illinois, listening to “The Heart of Rock N’ Roll.” Thanks, Aunt Lisa, for giving me some lighthearted times to make my childhood a bit more bearable.

There are many more bands I like and people I could thank, but this post is getting pretty long as it is. I’ll finish up by thanking my friend Mike Diamond (and, indirectly, his brother Brian) for my bonding with Vic Rattlehead, Megadeth’s mascot extraordinaire. I had heard Megadeth before I met Mike, but it never really caught my interest. Then Mike let me borrow his (or his brother’s: I’m not really sure) copy of Youthanasia. With ferocious guitars and thoughtful lyrics, Youthanasia made me a die-hard Megadeth fan instantly. While Cryptic Writings is my favorite Megadeth record of all, I’d still like to thank Mike Diamond for getting me to “taste the high-speed dirt.”